


To Fall

by mansikka



Series: Too Far [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Backstory, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hunters & Hunting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Plot, Prayer, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6579136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What can be so important that it'd drag you away from my bed, huh?” Dean said, beginning a trail of kisses at Cas' wrist that led all the way up his arm, before rolling up to straddle the back of his thighs and lightly run his fingers over his shoulder blades.</p><p>Cas hummed in approval at Dean's touch, pressing his nose into the pillow briefly before turning his head to the side.</p><p>“Number one. I thought we established that this was our bed?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Progress

**Author's Note:**

> This is an... interlude of sorts follow up to Too Far. 
> 
> I’ve started writing the final thing I want to end the series, which will also be a multi-chapter fic like this one. I’m really not sure when it will all be done, but it will be finished soon(ish) so… bear with me/avoid reading if you don’t like WIPs :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading :) x

“What can be so important that it'd drag you away from my bed, huh?” Dean said, beginning a trail of kisses at Cas' wrist that led all the way up his arm, before rolling up to straddle the back of his thighs and lightly run his fingers over his shoulder blades.

Cas hummed in approval at Dean's touch, pressing his nose into the pillow briefly before turning his head to the side.

“Number one. I thought we established that this was  _ our _ bed?”

Dean grinned, leaning down over him to kiss the side of his neck before straightening back up, thumbs pressing circles into his shoulders in a way that had Cas moaning out in pleasure at.

“ _ Our _ bed,” he corrected.

Cas gave a hum of approval, then carried on.

“Number two. What is so  _ important _ is of... monumental scale.”

“Too big for my tiny mind, huh?” Dean smirked, and then again at the way Cas wriggled beneath him in disapproval at his words. He ran his hands over Cas' ass since he'd so kindly presented him with it, then leaned back over again, kissing his way up the jagged pink scar on Cas' back.

“It would take a very long time to explain,” Cas told him, humming again to himself as Dean continued his trail of kisses all the way down his back.

“Fine. Keep your secrets,” Dean mumbled into his skin in the small of his back, then gave a huff of his own in surprise as without warning, Cas hoisted him up, flipped him over and on to his back, pinning him down firmly by the ankle and wrist with a glint in his eye.

“I get the impression that you do not approve of me leaving,” Cas chided, lowering himself slowly until their chests were flush together and Dean's now-released hands wrapped around him automatically, stroking down his back to rest on his hips.

“I never approve of you leaving, Cas. Thought we established  _ that _ ,” Dean smiled, tilting his chin up and waiting for Cas to kiss him.

Cas did just that, thorough, and long, until Dean felt as though he was melting beneath him.

“Number three,” Cas continued, eventually and solemnly. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

“I know your 'soon as I am able', Cas. Could be hours. Could be days-”

“It could be minutes,” Cas smiled, nudging Dean's head to one side and softly biting a trail down his neck that had him breathing out heavily in contentment.

“Just... make it soon, okay?” Dean asked when Cas met his eyes again, and Cas smiled, leaning his head down to press his forehead against Dean's.

“You know that I will try,”

Dean watched as Cas slid from the bed and dressed – slowly, for his benefit – loomed back over to give him a lingering kiss, then disappeared.

***

Dean stared at the spot Cas had just left from for several minutes then sighed heavily with self-pity, before dragging himself up to a sitting position. He looked around at the room that of late felt so much emptier the second that Cas left it, and swung his feet over to the side of the bed. He winced a little, knowing the slight ache he felt would give him a pleasant reminder throughout the day of what he and Cas had just been doing, then stood and stretched, scratching his stomach absently as he bent to pick up his clothes where they'd been so carelessly abandoned earlier.

When he was dressed, Dean flopped back horizontally across the bed again, his hand trailing idly across the crumpled sheets beside him as he lost himself in thought.

It was coming up to eight months ago now, since Dean had laid in this very position next to a very sick and sleepy Cas. And while the road to where they were now had been more off-roading and aqua-planing than the smooth highways of the Interstate that Dean preferred navigating, he wouldn't have it any other way.

There had been affection, and there had been arguing. Misunderstandings and a lot of making up, making out, and making over. Mostly for Dean though – in fact, for them both – there had been a sense of coming home, and belonging, that sometimes confused them, and made them withdraw into themselves when it got too intense to handle.

But there was always,  _ always _ resolution. They made a point of being honest, and talking, even though it was excruciating to do. And as many nights as it was possible, no matter what either of them were doing or where they were, Dean slept with Cas by his side, skin on skin.

Which sometimes squicked Sam out on the occasions they still shared a motel room and he woke first, to look over and find an unexpected tangle of limbs on the bed beside his, but still.

Cas had recovered fully after about six weeks of mostly staying in the bunker and sleeping, and that recovery had echoed his and Dean's tentative relationship in its stop-start motion. The first time Cas managed to transport himself out of the bunker Dean had held his breath, convinced that now that Cas could leave, he would, and would never want to return to him.

But Cas had returned, just a couple of hours later, pressing Dean up against the Impala still with the cloth in his hand from where he'd been cleaning her down, and kissed him hard in celebration of being back to 'normal'.

Most of the transition between them being friends pining for each other in not-so-secret to an actually acknowledged couple had been surprisingly seamless, once they'd figured out how to actually communicate with one another and gotten past all those awful months that neither of them now relished even thinking about. It was the insecurities that they got stuck up on, and seemed to be the one hurdle they faced now from time to time, even after all those months.

But, Dean reminded himself, smiling every inch at how lucky he knew he was, it had all been worth it. Every last minute.

With another stretch, Dean dragged himself to his feet, and wandered out in search of both food and company.

***

Sam wrinkled his nose as Dean walked passed him, smirking the moment Dean glanced back his way at Sam's exaggerated inhale.

“What? Telling me I smell?” Dean called, disappearing from sight only to appear a few short seconds later with a beer for them both and a handful of chips.

“You smell,” Sam confirmed, taking the bottle and clinking it against Dean's extended one.

“Of?”

Sam snorted around his beer, shaking his head. “Don't think I need to tell you that,”

Dean look down at himself, swallowed back the last of his chips, and grinned. “Guess not. You hungry?” he asked, disappearing again.

Sam slid a hand down on his stomach then pushed himself back from the table and stood, following Dean into the kitchen. “I could be persuaded.”

“Something quick. I'm starving,” Dean said decisively, bending to look in the fridge and pulling out a couple of packets.

“Your version of quick or mine? Sam asked, leaning back against the counter and watching.

“Mine,” Dean told him, nudging him to one side as he pulled another couple of things from the cupboards and over from behind Sam, gesturing at him to grab some pans. “Your idea of quick involves moaning at me for using the microwave and nuking all the nutrients, or buying some overpriced salad that's full of sloppy lettuce.”

Sam grinned, filling a pan with water and setting it on the stove. “That's... only half true,”

Dean hummed in place of an actual answer, and they kept up an idle string of conversation as he cooked.

“So,” Sam asked when they'd sat back down with loaded up plates.

“No idea, before you ask,” Dean said, spearing up some spaghetti onto his fork. Sam had taken to asking where Cas was going every time he left; not in a warped, possessive kind of way, but more in an intrigued constantly-needing-to-learn one that often left Cas smiling at him in bewildered amusement.

Sam all but pouted, but shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth and contented himself with that instead.

“Seen any more?” Dean asked with a half-full mouth, nodding his head over at the paperwork scattered across the end of the table.

There was a map with four coloured dots; one over Ohio, another in Limoges, one more in Namibia, and a final one in Calcutta which actually represented Cas.

That was where Cas had remembered being when he'd been stabbed, a sharp slide of a blade in his back that left him in a coma-like state where he could sense everything that was going on around him but was unable to move.

It had taken Dean's care of him, of flushing out the offensive wound, and a lot of rest, to allow him to start to heal. Since then, Sam and Dean had discovered three more angels; one that they had visited along with Cas in Ohio, and the other two having to observe from afar.

Despite their regular hunting, they kept an eye out for any information about other similar cases, researching anything they could get their hands on when they had the opportunity, but still turning up little.

There seemed to be no connection between the angels; Cas certainly knew nothing of the others, and there was little they had in common at all. It was an undercurrent of worry for them all, since there really should be nothing on earth that could immobilise an angel the way whatever this thing was could.

Cas was the only one who had recovered; the other three may as well have been stone angel statues adorning churchyards and memorials for all the movement they had. He had visited all three of them more than once, finding each of their vessels dead, their wounds healed over with thick, black scars, and their graces effectively dormant, trapped behind an impenetrable wall.

Each time Cas had returned from seeing these almost-stone angels looking troubled and guilty that he alone had survived whatever had happened to them. Dean always pulled him in that little bit tighter, and kissed him until the frown lines all but disappeared from Cas' face.

“Nope,” Sam said, swallowing another mouthful of spaghetti and chasing it down with a swig of beer. “Which I guess is a good thing, right?”

“Right,” Dean agreed, though still frowning. “So long as... you know. Cas is safe...”

Sam smiled thinly and nodded. “We'll keep looking. Just in case.”

Dean shot him a grateful smile, and took another swig of beer himself.

***

  
  
  



	2. First Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was a bad one, wasn't it?”
> 
> Cas continued staring off into the distance for several minutes before he turned to Dean, seeking clarification of his question.
> 
> Dean nodded, and lowered himself to straddle and sit on Cas' lap, the back of his lower arms resting easily on Cas' shoulders. Cas slowly lifted his hands until they were on Dean's hips, and it was only then that Dean rewarded him with a smile.
> 
> “This... I don't know. Battle. Mission of yours. Whatever it was, it was bad. Right?”

“It was a bad one, wasn't it?”

Cas continued staring off into the distance for several minutes before he turned to Dean, seeking clarification of his question.

Dean nodded, and lowered himself to straddle and sit on Cas' lap, the back of his lower arms resting easily on Cas' shoulders. Cas slowly lifted his hands until they were on Dean's hips, and it was only then that Dean rewarded him with a smile.

“This... I don't know. Battle. Mission of yours. Whatever it was, it was bad. Right?”

Cas' brow furrowed very slightly into a frown, and his head tilted as though he was about to look away again. Dean gently nudged a finger under his chin to keep him looking up at him, and smiled again.

“I always know when it's a bad one,” he whispered, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching.

“What do you mean?”

“I know,” Dean repeated, angling down to kiss him lightly before running his hands under the lapels of Cas' trenchcoat and tugging softly. “Because when it's a bad one you take forever to come back to me.”

Cas' frown deepened and he looked down at the way Dean was sitting on him, pressing the palms of his hands into his hips a little harder. “I am here, Dean,” he said, confused.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, angling down for another kiss, “You're here but you're not  _ here _ here. Physically you're sat here beneath me, yeah, but... you're still tuned in to whatever it is you've been doing. You've still got your angel gaze on. You've not even taken your jacket off yet, you're just... you know. Here, but not.”

Dean sat back a little and watched Cas' face, as it transformed from that blank stare into something softer, more human. The corners of his mouth flicked up into a rueful smile as Dean felt Cas' fingers curled away from their stiffness and into his sides, and finally Cas let out a soft sigh, nuzzling his nose against Dean's.

“Then I am back,” he mumbled, hands running once along Dean's thighs before curling a little firmer around his hips, and leaning up to claim a longer kiss. Dean hummed in appreciation and wrapped his arms around Cas' neck, grinning.

“Yeah, you are,”

Dean really could gauge just how bad whatever Cas had been doing was so very easily now. If Cas arrived with a smile, everything was good. If the first thing he did was pull Dean to him and kiss him thoroughly, it had either been a near miss or he'd been away from him for what felt like far too long. And when he arrived distant, like he had done just then, Dean couldn't even begin to imagine what horrors were dancing behind Cas' eyes.

He never asked too many questions, because Cas always seemed to find it so difficult to explain things in ways that he thought Dean could understand. Instead he either gave the briefest of summaries or said nothing at all, and Dean came to accept, and respect that. Because Cas really did always come back to him.

“So,” Dean said, wincing a little as he wriggled to get more comfortable on Cas' lap. Cas raised a hand to rest on his chest, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“You are injured,” Cas interrupted, cutting off whatever Dean had been about to say.

“It's noth-”

Cas cut off his words again with a kiss, spreading his fingers wider over Dean's skin, smirking as Dean sighed out in relief as Cas' grace drifted through and healed him.

“When were you going to tell me that you had two fractured ribs and numerous lacerations?” Cas asked reproachfully when he pulled back, though some of the reproach was actually at himself for not noticing immediately.

Dean shrugged, smiling. “Thank you,” he mumbled against Cas' lips, smiling harder there at the sigh Cas let escape before pulling Dean closer to him. “And you're not my personal first aid kit.”

“No,” Cas agreed, squeezing his hands where they rested on Dean's waist, “But I am  _ yours _ . And you are mine. And that means that if you are injured-”

Dean kissed away the lecture before it got properly started, shaking his head. “There's all kinds of perks to having my... you know...” and Dean tilted his chin in Cas' direction, unable to stop himself from echoing Cas' grin. “being all... otherwordly. Doesn't mean I wanna abuse it though,”

“Using my grace to heal you is not abusing 'it'. It is always freely given,” Cas half-protested, and Dean laughed, standing and pulling him to his feet.

“In that case... how'd you feel about, uh... helping Sam out?” he asked, entwining their fingers together and waiting until Cas nodded before tipping his head in the direction of the door.

“What were you fighting?” Cas asked as they made their way to Sam's room, their footsteps echoing along the bunker corridor.

“Pack of werewolves getting out of hand. No big deal,” Dean shrugged, rolling his shoulders in appreciation now that it didn't hurt his ribs to do so.

“It if was no big deal you would not both have been injured,” Cas grumbled, more to himself than to Dean, but Dean smirked over at him anyway and knocked on Sam's door.

At Sam's muffled response he pushed the door open and led Cas inside, both of them looking down at Sam in sympathy. He had an ice pack balanced on his knee, another to his head, and his hand laid limp and at a strange angle by his side.

Cas sighed, not even attempting to hide his disapproval of seeing Sam like this and immediately stepped forward to press two fingers to his forehead, healing him instantly.

Sam let out a moan of relief and arched up on the bed, slumping down heavily and letting the icepacks fall away from him.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said tiredly, cracking his eyes open and smiling up at them both.

“I would prefer not to need to heal you, Sam, but you are always welcome,” was Cas' response, which earned him a wider smile.

“So,” Dean said, his own shoulders slumping in relief at seeing Sam whole once again, “who's hungry?”

***

Since Cas was now recovered and fully angel again, his desire for food had waned somewhat, but surprisingly there were still some things that he still found at least a little palatable. He joined Sam and Dean for the occasional burger, and frequently snuck fries off of Dean's plate to the point where whenever Dean cooked he purposely made extra – always to put on his own plate though, since Cas never seemed to enjoy them as much if they were given to him just  _ for _ him.

Tonight was definitely a night where Cas seemed to have an appetite, and as he steadily helped himself to most of Dean's dinner, Sam's smile as he watched him grew wider and wider.

As they ate, Cas' eyes flitted continuously over to the end of the table and to the map and small stack of notes that they'd accumulated on the other angels that had been afflicted with the same sickness as him. It wasn't exactly an ongoing case, but neither was it something that any of them were able to forget about either, and what information they did have was always there, always in view.

Dean wondered sometimes if that added to the sense of guilt he often thought he saw in Cas' eyes, but hiding it away didn't seem like it would help much either.

“I visited Jean today,” Cas said quietly as Sam gathered up their plates to wash them and left him at the table with Dean.

Jean had been the name of the vessel of the angel that had been found in Limoges. A wallet with a driver's licence and other typical wallet contents had been reported by the guy that had found him, and as there was no way for Cas to really know who the angel was, since the angel's discovery he had been referred to as  _ Jean _ .

As far as they could tell, Jean had led a pretty simple life; his paper trails showed that he was a taxi driver, an estranged father who made regular maintenance payments, and that he also made regular donations to a local homeless charity. There was nothing to indicate that he'd led a particularly religious life, no clue as to why he had been chosen as a vessel, and no trace of anything particularly out of the ordinary.

He was currently in a bed in an institution, staring but not staring up at a ceiling and showing no signs of improvement. There was a pulse, a beating heart, and what seemed to be operating level brain activity, almost as though the human body was an incubator for the dormant angel grace it contained. But no response to any kind of stimuli at all. The facts of which Cas relayed to Dean in a neutral voice that did little to cover up the unease he felt about the situation.

“Hey,” Dean said, sliding his fingers over Cas' palm and threading them through his. “You know if we can do anything we will, right?”

“I do,” Cas replied, tilting his chin. “It is still... curious. That I could get no sense of any interaction with my grace when I tried to reach out.”

“And there's no... I don't know...  _ missing angels office _ or something you can check into I guess, right?”

Cas rewarded Dean with the huge affectionate smile he reserved for when Dean constantly tried to find parallels between Heaven and Earth with the most mundane of things, and shook his head, unable to stop himself leaning forward and kissing him.

“No, Dean. No missing angels office. Or office. Or  _ missing _ , really. Angels... we just … exist. We do not tend to keep a track on one another unless one of us is a cause for concern,”

“Damn,” Dean mumbled, holding Cas' face in place so he could continue the kiss, “You must have your ass watched all the time then, huh Cas?”

Cas' lips trembled with the effort of trying not to laugh and smile at the same time. “I assumed that was your job, Dean,”

Dean's answering smirk was joined by a wink as he leaned in again, “Damn straight it is...”

“You know, Dean. I do believe it would be... thorough, of me. To... inspect. To check if you have any further injuries. I would not want to have only partially healed you,”

Dean's smirk grew wider and he nodded, standing immediately and wriggling his fingers for Cas to grab so that he could pull him to his feet. “Got to be thorough,” he agreed, “We really should go check. Right now,”

When Sam returned to the table he found that he was alone again, and closed his eyes with a smile as he heard Dean's bedroom door close somewhere in the distance of the bunker. He groaned to himself, but there was laughter there as he grabbed his tablet and earphones and positioned himself far out of hearing distance.

  
  
  



	3. Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas
> 
> Cas hears the whisper that is unmistakeably a prayer of Dean's, and smiles to himself.
> 
> Over the years that he has come to know Dean, he has had to learn to distinguish between each and every prayer of his, to tell the difference between a mere thought and an actual need for help.
> 
> It is true; Dean cannot help that every thought he has of Cas comes out as prayer, since there is this connection that was there long before either of them acknowledged that there was something between them. It doesn't mean it isn't confusing, and more often than not distracting for Cas, both in terms of deciphering what the prayer might mean, and trying to not let it cloud whatever it is he is doing at the time he receives it.
> 
> Not, Cas reminds himself, that he is complaining about any of it.

_ Cas _

Cas hears the whisper that is unmistakeably a prayer of Dean's, and smiles to himself.

Over the years that he has come to know Dean, he has had to learn to distinguish between each and every prayer of his, to tell the difference between a mere thought and an actual need for help.

It is true; Dean cannot help that every thought he has of Cas comes out as prayer, since there is this  _ connection _ that was there long before either of them acknowledged that there was some _ thing _ between them. It doesn't mean it isn't confusing, and more often than not distracting for Cas, both in terms of deciphering what the prayer might mean, and trying to not let it cloud whatever it is he is doing at the time he receives it.

Not, Cas reminds himself, that he is complaining about any of it.

He and Dean, since that nightmarish situation before he got sick, and the entire period of that sickness too, have grown into something that Cas would never have even imagined possible. He had had doubts; not just that Dean wouldn't be able to bring himself to just  _ be _ , but whether he himself would be able to do the same.

Cas had feared losing himself, forgetting his very essence along the way somehow if he allowed himself to take from Dean what he wanted, and in turn allowed Dean to take from him. But somewhere along the way, they had just fit; it wasn't without difficulty, or challenge, but it was  _ good _ . And Cas realised that he wasn't diminished by his relationship with Dean as he'd once feared he would be; rather, he was strengthened by it.

_ Cas _ , he hears again, and brings himself to a stop. He had been on route to a village in southern Italy where a demon had been possessing a local parishioner and fooling the locals into believing it was some kind of prophet. True, it wasn't necessarily a mission of angelic proportion, and if there were hunters around, Sam and Dean had proved this was the kind of thing they could handle easily themselves. But given how he didn't really quite fit in with the garrison anymore, and how he straddled this strange line between angel and human that left him somewhat stranded, Cas took whatever opportunity there was to  _ help _ wherever he could.

When he's mid-flight, Cas usually drowns Dean's prayers out, because it only has to take the right kind of thoughts  _ at _ him for Cas to find himself completely off course from where he intended. Only last week, Dean had, and Cas knows it was fully intentional, had some very specific prayers about him whilst in the shower. Those prayers had led to an impromptu stop in the bunker's shower block rather than the picturesque churchyard in rural England that he was aiming for, to retrieve a long-forgotten angelic weapon.

Which again, he wasn't complaining about; he couldn't see any way he'd ever grow tired of being  _ with _ Dean, in whatever way possible, but still. Distracting.

_ Cas, _ Dean whispers from afar once more, and although Dean is often very insistent with certain... thought patterns, the rapid repetition here has Cas begin to be concerned. He sits in a tiny courtyard cafe nursing a coffee that he's come to grow very fond of, and lets himself tune in.

Tuning in to Dean's prayers is a little like slipping beneath his skin in some ways. There's a tight heat around his senses that cradles him and speaks to him as though through every inch of him, washing him over with a sense of wholeness and coming home, that Cas can't help but lean in to.

He hears  _ I miss you _ and  _ when are you coming back _ and  _ I hate it when you're gone, _ but these are sentiments he's heard a million times over because they seem to play on loop from Dean's every thought. He also hears  _ are you free to talk? _ , which gets his guard up; if only the prayers were a two way thing, this would be much easier.

Instead, he pulls the phone Dean has given him out of his pocket, connects to the Wi-Fi code conveniently written on the board over the menu on the wall of the cafe, and dials. Dean's  _ hey _ of greeting is soft, and warm, and Cas finds himself smiling into it, but also anticipating something uncomfortable for Dean to say in the undercurrent of his tone.

“Cas. You busy?”

“What do you need?”

“You. Obviously,” Dean says, in that way that has Cas' arousal spinning in him hard enough to make him wrap his fingers around the edge of the table and close his eyes.

“Aside from that,” he prompts, knowing his own voice has dropped an octave and also knowing exactly how Dean will be adjusting himself to hear that.

“Aside from that,” he agrees, and sure enough, Cas can hear him shifting uncomfortably, imagining the restriction of denim and possibly even how Dean might be palming himself through that; a thought which makes Cas sit a little uncomfortably himself.

“Dean,”

A heavy sigh comes down the phone, and Cas knows he's not going to enjoy what's coming.

“Cas. I... don't wanna worry you or anything, but. We think we might've found another one.”

***

Cas arrives on the front porch of a house in Michigan, firmly rapping his knuckles once on the door and waiting as he hears the sound of footfall grow louder. The door swings open and Dean greets him with a troubled smile, sneaking a glance behind him to shoo away a large black dog who is trying to get out, and then cups a hand to Cas' face to pull him in for a quick kiss.

Dean holds his face there and looks at him as though he's trying to tell Cas to remain calm; Cas presses his cheek against his palm, turning to graze a kiss there, and smiles to reassure him, though he can do nothing to prevent the sense of worry churning through.

Dean leads him up the stairs of this home, passing framed pictures and the occasional ornaments; touches of the people that occupy this space. They pause outside of what appears to be the master bedroom, with Dean leaning forward to knock once to let the occupants know they are there.

When they round the corner, Cas receives a grim smile and a nod from Sam, who's sat in a chair, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his thighs. There is a young girl sniffling on the other side of the bed, and for a moment she reminds Cas so much of Jimmy's Clare that he has to remind himself she is so much older now, and looks so different.

An idle reminder to himself that he must contact her soon and his gaze drifts behind the young girl to a woman laid beneath a duvet, tucked in securely, with a man sat beside her on an identical chair to Sam's, holding her hand, staring at her as though he is willing her to wake up.

The girl moves, drifting over to stand beside who is likely her father, and eyes the strangers in her parent's bedroom with deep mistrust. The father curls his arm around her and squeezes, but his eyes remain firmly on the face of the woman in the bed.

Cas stares; this is no woman, not now. It was once, but as with the other angels who have succumbed to whatever sickness this is, the human is long gone, and the vessel is but a shell containing an uncontactable grace.

He watches as the father murmurs something to the girl, and she looks up at Cas, walks behind him giving him a wide berth, then leaves the room.

The father stares after her for a moment, then raises slowly to his feet, offering a hand out for Cas to shake.

“Vincent,” he says, smiling softly and looking back down at the woman. “This is Mags.”

Cas nods to him, then watches as Vincent's shoulders drop, and he carefully pulls back the duvet, rolling Mags stiffly on to her side. Gently, he hitches up the back of the pyjama top she's wearing, and Cas' eyes are drawn to the jagged black scar in the middle of her back.

Vincent gently reaches out and strokes a finger along it, before letting his head fall further in grief and covering and rolling her back over.

“Sam and Dean tell me... this happened to you too?” he asks, looking back at Cas almost longingly, as though perhaps Cas holds answers to his wife's condition.

Cas looks sharply to Dean for guidance, and Dean nods. “He knows you're an angel, Cas. Not news here,”

“Yes,” Cas says simply then, nodding.

Vincent nods, his breath catching. “You're lucky they got to you in time,”

Cas looks over to Dean for an explanation and sees him sigh.

“Vincent says she's been like this for about four months.”

“We've been... feeding her intravenously,” Vincent says, gentle fingers running over a small bandage on Maggie's wrist. “But she's been... there's been no change, not one. Maybe if I'd... I could've done something if I'd been here.”

Cas hears a more definite catch in Vincent's throat and feels a wash of guilt run through him. Dean sees it instantly and reaches out, cupping his hand against Cas' face again and stroking his thumb gently over his cheek as though to comfort him.

For a moment, Cas is stunned, glancing over at Vincent for his reaction but seeing nothing but a sad, knowing smile.

“Dean said he took care of you,” he says, and there's a bittersweet twist to his statement.

“He did,” Cas confirmed. “And Sam,” he adds, turning to acknowledge Sam sat behind them.

Sam smiles up at him and walks over to join them, all crowding into the small space to one side of the bed.

“Your scar,” Vincent says, looking at Cas thoughtfully. “It's like this?”

“It's more like a regular scar. Pink and red, not black like that,” Dean answers automatically.

“And you say. You just... flushed the wound out?” Vincent asks, his voice small, and broken.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and it comes out as half-apology. “I... yeah. I bathed it, flushed it out, kept at it until all the gunk was gone. Didn't think it was gonna end.

“So if I'dve been here,” Vincent prompts, closing his eyes.

“Hey,” Sam says, gripping Vincent's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “We... we got lucky I think. I mean... Cas got to Dean in time. If he hadn't, then-”

“How many days were you out? Before you got to Dean?” Vincent asks Cas, fixing him with a gaze that almost pins him in place.

“I estimate three days.” Cas replies, casting his thoughts back to vague memories of dirt and bleakness before he'd even been able to move.

“And... how long did it take you to get all that stuff out of him?” Vincent asks, turning to Dean.

“Got most of it out in one go. Took hours; think I was cleaning it non-stop for something like... I don't know. Six hours straight?” Dean looks to Sam for confirmation of that and receives it in the form of a short nod. “And then... I don't know. Another couple of days of changing the dressing and stuff. But by that point, most of the stuff was out.”

“And you were paralysed throughout,” Vincent continues, talking to Cas but staring back down at his wife.

“Yes.”

“So,” and now Vincent's voice is breaking completely as he collapses back into the chair and gathers up Mags' hand to his, kissing the back of it. “If I'd been here. I could... I could...” but his words trail away from him as he leans forward and begins to cry.

“Vincent took their daughter away for a couple of weeks whilst Mags was out of town for work,” Dean tells Cas quietly as they step away from Vincent to give him a little privacy. “When he got back he found her face down on the couch like this. Managed to get her upstairs. Been like this ever since. He says the wound was already healed over... like the others were, I guess,” Dean adds, his voice dropping a little in sadness.

“I assume... no doctors?” Cas tries, although he knows from experience that even those humans who live quite happily within 'the system' are also reluctant to visit places like hospitals.

Vincent smiles up at him tearfully, shaking his head. “ _ Cas _ , right?” he says, wryly as he half-remembers Cas' name, “I wasn't about to turn my wife over to some kind of... medical experimenting.”

Cas nods, watching him.

“Besides. I guess... I mean I assumed since Maggie got her home, Maggie'd be able to fix her. Always healed her of everything else up until now. How was I to know any different this time?” Vincent sobs, closing his eyes in defeat.

Cas looks up at Dean in confusion and sees the grim set of his mouth as well as a deep frown. Dean turns a little to look at Vincent himself, before glancing back to Cas uncertainly.

Cas feels even more apprehensive as he sweeps his gaze over Sam and Dean's faces, taking in their unsettled expressions and asking, “Maggie? Who is Maggie?”

Vincent wipes a hand across his eyes and nods, looking down at Mags again, tipping his chin. “Maggie. Mags' angel.”

  
  
  



	4. Altruism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Heard from him yet?”
> 
> Sam watched Dean's already grim expression grow a touch darker as he shook his head, keeping his eyes turned down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last one of these ‘interlude’ chapters for now; the final thing is in progress and will go up when it is all done - I shall do my best not to keep you waiting too long :) x

“Heard from him yet?”

Sam watched Dean's already grim expression grow a touch darker as he shook his head, keeping his eyes turned down.

A few days ago, Cas had left them in Michigan with nothing but a brief kiss for Dean, a grabbed shoulder for Sam, and a frown lining his face as he went. Cas had taken the news of yet another injured angel badly, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if part of that was because the story of the angel  _ Maggie _ prior to her being wounded was so unusual, even by their standards.

Vincent, the husband of the vessel of Maggie, had stared at Cas until even Cas grew uncomfortable. Dean moving to stand in front of Cas as though to shield him from Vincent's eyes was the thing that eventually snapped him out of it, and awkwardly, Vincent led them all downstairs, inviting them to stay for dinner. They had sat around the dining room table with his daughter Lizzie, watching as she fussed over broccoli and repeatedly asked for Maggie and her mom.

“That's Maggie's doing,” Vincent said, smiling at her sadly as she resolutely pushed the vegetable around the plate until it was nothing but green mush. “Told her she thought broccoli was vile, too. I...” and Vincent cleared his throat uneasily, his face the picture of pain. “Sometimes I just sat and watched Mags' face when they were having their internal conversations, and it was just the funniest thing to see.”

After dinner and Lizzie's bedtime, Vincent had led them out on to the back porch, and they had continued talking long into the night. As Cas stood and listened as though he was on guard, both Sam and Dean had voiced their own suspicions to Vincent. When he'd said  _ Maggie _ was the name of the angel that occupied his wife Mags; or rather, that was the name she'd adopted for herself, their own experiences with angels unwilling to reveal their true selves left them sceptical. But Vincent's description of how the angel had become a part of their lives was given with such sincerity, that they were both left not knowing what to believe.

“She just... arrived one day, seeking refuge,” Vincent said when he'd explained it to him, staring down out over the garden but not seeing anything. “Never found out what she wanted refuge from - she always said it was 'beyond our understanding'.”

Dean smiled involuntarily at that, glancing up as Cas turned round and tipped his head at him with a smirk as though to say,  _ see? _

“But she was  _ good,  _ and genuine,” Vincent continued, insistent. “And I could see it, all the time – when it was Mags there with me, and when it was Maggie. They became so close; I honestly believe Maggie loved my wife like a sister, you know?”

Sam and Dean had both shaken their heads to say they  _ didn't _ know, and Vincent had smiled, carrying on, his eyes drifting over to look at Cas again. “I know how it must sound. Inviting an  _ angel _ into our homes? If I'd seen this on TV I'd be just as sceptical and calling crazy too if I didn't have the facts. But honestly; she just... she became part of the family somehow. And not once did she ever stop Mags from surfacing if she had something she wanted to say, or do.”

Dean and Sam both looked back expectantly at him at that, clearly still unconvinced.

So Vincent had pressed on, seeming desperate to change their minds, as though it was a way to hold on to his wife. “She healed Mags; Mags had type one diabetes until Maggie came along, and a whole bunch of other minor stuff, but Maggie just... took all of that away. Without us even asking.”

“And she never asked for anything in return at all?” Sam probed, uncomfortable because of his own experiences, and unable to imagine anything so altruistic.

“Not really, no. She said... Mags being her vessel was more than she could ever repay. She asked... she liked going to a church from time to time, said it was like a telescope home. That's about it,” Vincent smiled, shaking his head.

Sam frowned, still brimming with disbelief. “You're telling us that an... angel of the lord sat around your dinner table and... shared a hatred of vegetables with your daughter... and asked to go to church... and that's it?”

“That's it,” Vincent repeated, closing his eyes with a sigh. “She just... observed. Lived through Mags' experiences, saw the world through her eyes. She was fascinated by all of it. Living. People. How we interact.”

Cas had turned to them all then, nodded as though in acceptance of Vincent's words, but left abruptly soon after without adding anything to their conversation.

And now Dean and Sam were on a completely unrelated case, with Dean more than a little distracted by not hearing from Cas, and Sam watching him worriedly.

“I mean... he popped in for like... two minutes last night, let me know he was okay, but...” Dean amended a while after Sam's question, shifting uncomfortably and pulling awkwardly at his tie with a grimace.

“What's he doing?” Sam asked, watching a wave of conflicting emotions ripple across Dean's face.

“Something to do with a weapon of heaven and some... corrupt priest, or something.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah. That'd be a first. So... he didn't say anything else about...  _ Maggie _ ?”

“Not a thing. Didn't even mention her,”

Sam mumbled something under his breath about a goodnight kiss distracting him, and Dean cleared his throat, fixing Sam with a scowl when he looked up. Sam kept the eye contact for all of two seconds before grinning to himself and looking away again.

“He feels guilty, you know?” Dean said softly, frowning to himself.

“Guilty 'cos he's okay?”

When Dean nodded, Sam rolled his eyes. “Typical Cas,” and at Dean's glare, he added, “He always blames himself when it's not his fault. Always takes on stuff like it's only his responsibility.”

Dean's expression softened, and he nodded in agreement. “We're probably not the best of influences on him for that attitude, huh?”

Sam smiled, shaking his head. “Guess not. But it's not like he doesn't do enough of it on his own as well,”

With a grim smile Dean couldn't help but agree again, and let out a long, unhappy sigh. “I don't know, Sam,” he said then, in a tone that had Sam looking at him in concern. “I kind of half-convinced myself... I thought this might be a one off thing, you know? Like... I don't know. I thought maybe someone had it in for Cas, or something. But now...”

“Now,” Sam picked up where Dean left off, sighing himself. “Now it's... bigger. I kind of figured the same to start with as well. But... look at it this way. If it's not... personal, maybe there's less chance of whatever this is coming after him again, right?”

Despite it being a clear attempt at clutching at straws, Sam's point was tinged with enough hope to loosen some of the scowl from Dean's face, and he nodded, thinking to himself.

“Don't mean I'm not half-tempted to trap him in an angel trap and keep him safe in the bunker till we figure this thing out,” Dean mumbled eventually, half under his breath.

Sam burst out laughing. “Uh... one? Just 'cos you  _ can _ persuade him to do just about anything now? – even more than you could before? – I can't see him walking into that one. Two? I think he'd smite your ass just out of spite if you even  _ mentioned _ him keeping a low profile. And three?”

When Sam didn't continue, Dean lifted his gaze from where he'd been scowling at nothing and looked at him questioningly. Sam gestured with a small flick of his hand that told Dean to be patient. “Just working how fast I can get out of here before-”

“Sammy-”

“Look at you being all protective boyfriend-y,” Sam spluttered out, ducking back from the expected blow with an uncontainable cackle. He peeked through his fingers when no such blow was forthcoming, and dropped his hands, staring back at Dean in half-surprise.

Dean waited for Sam to straighten himself back up where he sat and nodded, a smug smile on his face as he retorted with, “Gotta be annoying for you that that sort of stuff don't touch me anymore, huh?”

“What stuff?” Sam asked defensively.

“Your teasing. Not a lot you can say now that'd bother me. Not when it's all true. 'course I'm protective of him,” Dean said, both quiet and proud.

Sam groaned, whining, “Can I get my brother back, please?” he said, looking towards the counter of the cafe they were in as though they'd messed up their order. “'stead of this... sap sat here in front of me?”

“'fraid not,” Dean grinned, throwing some money down on the table for their drinks and gesturing for them to leave.

“Not even if I say-”

“Nope.” Dean sauntered away with Sam trailing about a foot behind him.

“You don't even know what-”

“Nope,” Dean said again, holding the door open for him and waiting for him to pass.

Sam eyed him suspiciously, taking a very large and quick step to get clean out of Dean's way in case he struck out.

When he didn't, Sam's eyes grew a touch wider, and he laughed, and in a sing-song voice said, “Huh. Guess love changes a man, right?” He took another exaggerated pace away from Dean as they headed for the Impala, and was incredulous when all Dean responded with was a shrug.

Sam stood, staring stupidly across the top of the car as Dean climbed in, smiling to himself.

***

“So. Reckon we should stop at a motel?” Sam suggested as they returned to the car after their questioning of witnesses for their case revealed very little.

Dean shrugged, steering them out into the traffic. “Guess we could get a room, keep asking around in the morning,”

“Two rooms,” Cas amended, arriving effortlessly and unannounced in the back seat, causing them both to startle a little.

Dean gripped harder to the steering wheel and stared in the rearview mirror, grinning at Cas uncontrollably. “Hey, Cas,”

Sam turned in his seat to smile at Cas and Cas nodded back, his eyes instantly returning to Dean.

“If you have no objection. I am now 'free' for a few days. Perhaps I can assist you with this case.”

When Sam smirked and mumbled to himself, Dean looked over at him and rolled his eyes, while Cas tilted his head and looked at him curiously.

“Of course, only if you are willing, Sam,” Cas added, and Dean's hand shot out to whack Sam in the chest, following it up with a scowl.

“Yeah,” Sam wheezed out, knocking Dean's hand away. “'course. Always happy to have you around, Cas, you know that.”

Cas nodded, still frowning a touch, but settling more comfortably in his seat and staring out of the window.

At the motel, Dean was barely through the door of his and Cas' room when he found himself in Cas' arms, and felt Cas kissing a trail down his neck.

“I have missed you,” Cas told him simply, with Dean turning in his arms and pulling him in to an insistent kiss that found them toppling backwards and landing with a huff on the bed.

“So,” Dean said breathlessly as Cas made light work of removing their clothes, “Not just to help us on the case, huh?”

Cas paused, smiling down at him triumphantly. “Perhaps I wanted to spend some time with you, Dean. Are you objecting?”

Dean shook his head emphatically, swallowing slowly at the hungry look Cas gave him then before he leaned down and claimed another kiss.

  
  
  



End file.
